Tale of the Trevors
by redeyedram
Summary: We've read the diary... the letters. We've felt the woe of a man betrayed by his own creation. Now experience the story of George, Jessica, and Lisa Trevor, on their first and final visit to the Arklay Mansion.


**A/N: I obviously do not claim to own Resident Evil or any of its components. This piece is a relatively untold story I thought might be fun to explore! Plot points may not completely match up – I intend on doing things a certain way for the sake of the story. Hopefully you won't mind the creative license! Enjoy…**

He would never forget the sky that night. The dark, ashy sky hung dangerously low, as if Mother Earth were quietly caving in on herself. The freshly-constructed walls of the seemingly endless mansion quivered beneath the tremor of the impending storm – both tempest and manor were virgin to one another. A sleek, nondescript helicopter hovered high above the scene, its nervous occupants eagerly awaiting the landing.

They started as three – father, mother, and teenage daughter. "Mr. Trevor, we're going to bring you down, now." The pilot had offered little more than a glance back at his passengers for the entire length of the voyage. The cabin shook. George Trevor pulled away from the window, urging his wife to straighten his tie one last time. Jessica clapped her pocket mirror closed and obliged. Lisa, their fourteen year-old daughter, couldn't pry her eyes away from the massive house below. Something about it unsettled her, knotting her stomach in a way that would make a five year-old's shoelaces look tidy.

"I can't believe it's done…" George exclaimed – mostly to himself. Jessica's half-hearted smile barely fazed him these days. "It looks… incredible! Leese – that's your dad's work!"

Only the ovular window saw Lisa's pensive frown as the helicopter lowered and touched down against the understory. The heavy, sliding door flew open and a glacial breeze tore through the cabin, flooding the passengers with a sense of immediacy. "Mr. Trevor, an honor to meet you! My name is Lloyd Birkenshire; I'm Mr. Spencer's personal assistant." The uplifting voice was a relief for the downtrodden architect. It came from an oily-haired gentleman not much older than George – probably in his late thirties. George's lips widened into a grin as he took the man's hand and firmly shook it. "Mr. Spencer has been anxiously awaiting you."

"I've been looking forward to this, too," George returned confidently, leading his family after the tall, slender assistant. The hooded forestry cast ghoulish shadows as they paced toward the house. A short, cobblestone path was guarded by an elevated, ominous statue, and led up to a pair of massive, oak doors. Lloyd firmly opened them with one hand, gesturing the family in with the other. Lisa, trailing behind her parents, watched as she crossed the threshold and prayed that she would soon see the light of day.

George marveled at the interior no less than the exterior. Each banister was expertly crafted, carved with images of tortured souls clawing their way out of hell. The floor was the sleekest marble, framed with antique, iron candlesticks older than George could ever hope to be. There, at the center, was a marvelous staircase, the stone surface coated up the center with a long, iron red runner. George fought to contain his excitement.

A short-statured silhouette stood at the top of the grand staircase, arms folded behind his back. The lighting was dim and haunting, leaving Spencer in the solace of the faded moonlight. "Welcome, Trevor family." The eerily welcoming voice travelled through the hall, ricocheting off the four, solid borders of the room.

"Mr. Spencer… so glad to see you again," George's nervous voice paled in comparison.

"I trust you feel satisfied with the appearance of all of your hard work?"

"You kidding?" George nearly lost control, "It's awe-striking."

"Your description of your wife's beauty was quite the understatement, Mr. Trevor."

George watched as a rosy hue flooded Jessica's cheeks; a natural accessory to her long, strawberry tresses. "Thank you for having us, Mr. Spencer. This is our daughter, Lisa," Jessica gently ushered her teenage daughter forward, keeping a hand planted on her shoulder.

Spencer went quiet for a moment. Lisa tucked into her mother's side, one foot gently grazing the other. She could feel his eyes exploring her, and a curiosity lingered in the frigid atmosphere.

"And your daughter is quite the… _specimen_." None of the Trevor's were sure they liked the word-choice, but each of them stomached it in their own, subtle way. Spencer's feet were silent as he floated down the stairs, though a walking stick in his hand made a loud _clack_ as it met each step. "You must be famished after your trip," he presumed as his aging features animated themselves beneath a clearer light. In actuality, the Trevor's had eaten plenty before the short voyage, but they were in no position to be ill-mannered.

"Oh… yeah, definitely," George answered on behalf of the trio.

"Actually… Lisa and I ate before the trip. I'd hate to waste your food on a full stomach, sir," Jessica contradicted her husband, staring daggers at him for the presumptuousness. Spencer seemed almost pleased with her answer, nodding.

"Very well, then. Lloyd here will show you to your rooms." Lisa offered her father a frail frown as her mother tugged her after the parting assistant. George was led west into a dining room that made his architectural spirit weak in the knees. He knew the layout of the mansion. He knew each and every nook and cranny that there was to know about. It was his masterpiece, and being inside of it for even a moment invoked euphoria he wouldn't soon forget.

If he could just see his parents now – show them this building – they'd take back every word. All of his "senseless ideas" had finally paid off. Thanks to Ozwell E. Spencer, George could live comfortably for the rest of his life. He could shrug off his faithless marriage, support his daughter financially, and have a bachelor's life from a high-rise building in New York City. This fantasy had stained itself in the back of his mind, refusing to leave until his next, guiltless one-night stand. All that was left now was his payment.

Dinner idled by – the time lost in the rhythm of the ticking grandfather clock. Spencer and George sat at opposite ends of a lengthy table, making what small conversation their diaphragms cared to muster. Before long, Lloyd entered the room, whispered something into Spencer's ear, and stood to the side.

"It appears I have some matters to attend to, Mr. Trevor. I hope you'll stay and finish your meal. Lloyd will be happy to show you to your private room afterwards." With that, the mansion's proprietor disappeared behind a nearby doorway. George stared down at the plate before him – most of the lamb chop was still in one piece.

"I think I'm done," George commented, gently pushing the plate away from him. Lloyd, stricken with a cold expression, walked over and pushed the plate back toward him.

"That's a very expensive cut of meat, Mr. Trevor. It would displease Mr. Spencer if his favorite dish went to waste." Something told George that Spencer could afford to waste a meal or two, but a threatening glimmer in Lloyd's steel gray eyes made the architect remarkably uneasy. He fought his way through a few more bites, before Lloyd seemed satisfied. "This way," he started, leading George back out to the main hall.

A few minutes passed before they arrived at a dark, mahogany door tucked at the end of a regal corridor. "Have a good night, Mr. Trevor." George could have sworn he detected a hint of sarcasm, but he pushed away the suspicion and entered the breezy room. The walls were lined with soft, green, printed wallpaper. Two, full-sized beds sat beside one another, both turned down and undisturbed. "Jessica? Lisa?" He peeked into the connected bathroom, but neither could be found inside. That's when he spotted it. There, left on the bed, and written on a blank, memo sheet was feminine handwriting George assumed was his wife's.

_George,_

_I was calling home and I got terrible news from my sister, Emma. Turns out she's not doing too well. She's been admitted to the hospital. Lloyd is having someone take me back to the city so I can fly out to see her. Lisa wanted to come – she's worried about her aunt. I'll see you home in a few days._

_Jessica_

The letter was disappointing, in some ways. Liberating in others. The lack of written affection only confirmed what George already knew. His marriage had fallen apart. Little did he realize, every word he'd read was a complete and utter lie. As the flustered architect undressed and settled down to go to sleep, he couldn't help but ignore the chills lingering up his spine. Spencer's expression caught his mind's eye as he drifted off for one last time.


End file.
